


CHICKEN SOUP

by Strength_in_pain



Series: In-between Time [3]
Category: The Goldfinch (2019), The Goldfinch - Donna Tartt
Genre: Blankets, Cooking, Couch Cuddles, Gen, Las Vegas, the kids kinda happy?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:07:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21667921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strength_in_pain/pseuds/Strength_in_pain
Summary: Saw something on Insta about Theo cooking for Boris, then I remembered a few moments in the book where Theo cooked with Boris sooo story time.OrTheo makes chicken soup while Boris talks to him.
Relationships: Theodore Decker & Boris Pavlikovsky, Theodore Decker/Boris Pavlikovsky
Series: In-between Time [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1562089
Comments: 4
Kudos: 76





	CHICKEN SOUP

New York weather was something my mother often complained about. The seven inches of snow, the icy roads, and the cold painful air were all drawbacks, I suppose, but I was accustomed to them. 

When my mother died and I moved to Las Vegas with my father, there were so many things I wanted to tell her. For one, I wanted to tell her that my father had a new girlfriend, Xandra, whom I suspect he’s been seeing even while my mother was alive. That’s where Dad went when he left us for months at a time, to Vegas to see this chick. I wanted to tell my mom that my father owned an expensive car, and a two story house which was ten times bigger than our tiny apartment, so no wonder he didn’t send us any money. I wanted to tell her that his drinking problem still existed, but he had mainly taken to drugs now: Vicodins to be exact. But the strange thing was, my drugged out Dad was much more calm then the alcoholic one. My mother and I would have had a long discussion about that little fact. But most of all, I wanted to tell my Mom about the weather in Canyon Shadows; how blistering hot it was in this desert like terrain. 

Boris, my best friend and only friend I had made in Vegas so far, was handling the heat much better than I was, though he was used to the painful sting of the sun considering he lived in Ukraine, Sweden, and Australia. He’s lived in quite a number of other places that I can’t remember, but he loves to talk about them. In return, I love to hear about his stories of riding camels and surviving malaria. Talking to Boris was always a good laugh; he was so full of life. But as used to the heat as he was, Boris complained nonstop about it. He had a deathly fear that too much heat would make a person sick. He’s even gotten used to carrying an umbrella to shield himself from the sun. 

We were both sore though, supporting painful sunburns on our backs. We made the unfortunate mistake of drinking too much last night and fell asleep outside by the pool. When we woke up this morning, not only did our heads hurt, but our backs were so stiff we had to crawl back inside the house. 

An hour later, when I couldn’t stand the burning, scratchy sensation any longer and had started to cry, Boris found a bottle of Aloe Vera cream that Xandra kept in the bathroom and he rubbed it into my skin. We took turns massaging each other’s backs while watching TV. No one was home, so lunch was completely forgotten. We didn’t mind, we pigged out on potato chips and beer. But by the time five o’clock rolled around, we were starving. 

That’s why Boris and I were limping down the sweltering hot street with two coats full of ingredients for some chick soup. The thought of hot, warm, chicken soup made me want to die considering I was burning alive, but Boris promised that the air conditioned house would feel like a freezer since we were so used to the warm air. 

He was right. When I opened the door and stepped inside my house, a wave of freezing cold air hit me. I might as well have walked into a freezer. 

“Shit, this weather is going to make me sick.” I muttered, walking over to the kitchen trembling from the cold, and emptying my coat pockets of the stolen items we snatched. 

“Is very cold.” Boris agreed, setting his share of the goods on the counter. He poked me on the cheek. “ Czerwone policzki.” 

“What’s that mean?” I asked, while stretching my arms towards the top cabinets, to gather a pot. Boris was always talking in Russian, or Polish, or Czech. I’ve learned some words, mostly swear words, but there were plenty I had to ask about. 

“Red cheeks.” Boris clarified. “You look embarrassed.”

“I’m just hot.” Flipping on the stove, I put the pot down, and started to fill it with broth. Boris raised an amused eyebrow. 

“You are hot? ha!” He shook his head, “I am freezing.”

“That’s not what I meant - I’m cold too. I’m just - flushed I guess.” 

“Flushed?”

“Yeah. Means my cheeks are red cause of the heat.” 

As I heated up the stove, Boris sat his butt on the kitchen counter and started to kick his legs back and forth. 

“You get flushed when you are sick as well.” 

As Boris rambled on about this and that, I couldn’t help but think of my mother and how devastated she would be if I told her I just shop-lifted. How angry she would be to know I started smoking. How sad she would be to see me drink the way my father had. This is not the life she would want for me by far, but with her gone, it is the only life I know now. I was never meant to live with my father. If my mom would have lived I would have never lived with him. If I never lived with him, I would have never met Boris. If I never met Boris, I would have never become so addicted to cocaine and alcohol. Well... Xandra and my father would have gotten me addicted to alcohol without Boris’s help. Still, if my mother was alive she wouldn’t want me spending time with Boris. I knew it all too well. But as it stands, my mother is not alive. And without her, I am so alone. Boris is the first person to truly understand and be there for me. He makes me laugh when I want to cry. He’s talked me out of doing some crazy shit. He might not be a good influence, but I was dying in New York without my mother - at least here - in the blazing heat - I feel alive again with Boris. 

I stopped stirring and looked at my dark-haired friend. He was smiling, and rambling on about his old cook in Indonesia. 

“You’re better than him, Potter. Really. Bami was the best, but your pancakes are delicious!” 

I scooped up some chicken soup onto a spoon and held it in front of Boris’s face. “Open.”

Boris opened his mouth and let me slide the chicken soup in. 

His eyes went wide and he hummed around the spoon. “Mmm.” 

“Good?”

“Not good, brilliant! This is the best chicken soup I have ever had. Honest Potter, you are good cook. Is extra delicious.” 

I couldn’t help but smile. Leave it to Boris to make me feel better and drag me out of my depressing thoughts. “It’s just those chicken noodle packets we bought - or um took.” 

“Nyah, is your cooking skills.” 

I laughed and poured us two bowls. “If you say so.” 

We sat in front of the Tv, curled under a blanket on the couch because our body temperatures were still fucked up. We ate our hot bowls of soup while watching house hunting shows. I really like to critique the designs of the houses whereas Boris just likes the drama. Either way, we both enjoyed watching it. 

Halfway through the show I set my empty bowl of chicken soup on the floor and snuggled further into Boris. At least I’m not alone anymore.


End file.
